


Not from around here

by Mouse (clandestineAbattoir)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Dirk is a mutant, Dystopia, Jake is a priveliged kid, M/M, This is weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clandestineAbattoir/pseuds/Mouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake has lived an idyllic childhood in happy, sunny Sburbia, a small town located on the edge of the prospitan empire. He has never had reason to fear the flesh eating mutants that were held on the dersite side of the fence. Until he discovers a hole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not from around here

“Goooood morning Sburbia!”  
Jake groaned as the tv installed into the wall in his room switched on, jarring him out of hjs half conscious haze. Stupid automatic broadcasts.  
He pried open his weary eyes, making an attempt to rub the sleep from them as he sat up in his massive pile of pillows and blankets and glared at the screen. The plastic, grinning face of the woman on the tv was too much cheerful for this early in the morning.  
The English boy tuned out the teleprompted words as he forced himself out of bed, looking at himself in the his bedside mirror, making a half assed attempt to tame his bedhead with his fingers before giving up and picking up the CrockerCorp Automatic Hairbrush, pressing a button and setting the bowl shaped contraption on his head as it whirred to life. He felt a familiar tug as the red and and black plastic contraption pulled and styled his unruly black hair into place. It took about three, maybe four minutes before Jake felt it release the last strands of hair and click off. He took it off, setting it down precariously on the cluttered table, the crocker corp emblem on it hidden by cookbooks that jake didn't even know why he had. It seemed like everything they owned was CrockerCorp.  
“Jake! Breakfast is ready!” his grandmother called from the kitchen.  
He put on a shirt and shorts and made his way into the dining room, giving bec, the highly illegal family dog, a treat before plopping down on the ugly black chair that has face leather that stuck to his thighs when he sat down.  
Grandma English put the bland, prepackaged scrambled eggs down in front of him and he sighed.  
“Graaaaaan,” jake whined, “can't i have a salad?”  
The aging woman sighed, her tired emerald eyes getting soft as she spoke.  
“Jake, you know we have to eat at least some of the CrockerCorp meals. People will get suspicious otherwise. They might discover the garden and you don't want that do you?”  
“No gran, we don't want that,” he mumbled bitterly, stabbing the dull, tasteless egg product with the red spork aggressively. He ate quickly, forcing the rubbery eggs down his throat as fast as possible.  
When he finished shoveling down that mess that people called eggs, the CrockerCorp Automatic Dishmaid took his plate in its metal talons, blasting it with CrockerCorp Island Scented Dish Soap that smelled like wet dog before putting into the black lacqured cabinet that had the CrockerCorp emblem promiently displayed on the door.  
“Hey Gran, can I go exploring?” he asked eagerly.  
“Of course dear.”  
“Thanks Gran!” he shouted, grabbing his CrockerCorp Adventure Bag with built-in Safetry Tracker from the floor and heading out into the small, suburban neighborhood located on the edge of the realm of Prospit.  
He made the short trek to his absolute favorite spot in the entire world. It was located right against the fence that separated the small town of Sburbia from the deadly, shadowy realm of Derse.  
A tree, which was rooted in Dersite soil, was growing there, a few limbs of dark wood and peculiar pink leaves hanging over the side of the fence. As far as anyone outside Jake's family was concerned, it was the only natural plant life to ever touch the artificial Prospitan air. Jake loved it.  
But today, something was different. Something was wrong. Right at the spot where Jake usually lay his CrockerCorp picnic blanket, there was a hole in the fence.  
Jakes brain helpfully supplied images of mutants with glowing red eyes and sharp, wicked fangs and long,mean claws that he saw on the television. Oh god, what if they came for him?  
The thought was enough to send Jake sprinting him, almost tripping over poor Bec in his haste to get into the door.  
Grandma English looked up from her crossword puzzle, eyebrows knitting together in concern for her huffing snd puffing grandson.  
“Jake? What is it?” she asked softly.  
“Hole…. Fence…. Mutant…” he managed to get out between gulps of air.  
Her eyebrows rose up to her hairline at the last word.  
“Did you see a mutant?” she asked, almost like she was afraid of the answer.  
“No, but one could have gotten out!” he exclaimed.  
The muscular old woman relaxed.  
“Its fine dear. The hole will be fixed, and any escaped mutants will be dealt with accordingly,” she reassured, going back to her crossword.  
Jake sighed. She had a point. Sburbia was one of the wealthiest border towns in the entire realm of Prospit. Fence security would take care of the problem, and he could go back to living the rest of his teenagerhood without fear of what lived on the other side of the fence.  
The rest of Jakes day passed without incident.He played, had a terrible lunch, played some more, and ended the day with a sweet, juicy apple from his grandmother's beloved secret garden.  
That night, however, the sixteen year old could not fall asleep.  
He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't help but feel that that hole in the fence was a missed opportunity. A whole new realm for Jake to explore. But you never know what lurks in the dersite shadows. But he may never get another opening like this!  
After an hour of bickering with himself silently, his mind was made up. He was going.  
Quietly, he got out of bed, slipped on his adventuring clothes and carefully retrieving the non-CrockerCorp-approved adventure kit he got off the black market from under his bed.  
He snuck stealthily through the marbled halls, stepping over the sleeping Bec as he slipped out the door, down the familiar route that was so ingrained in his memory he coukd navigate it even in the pitch black of the night that crept along with him.  
He dug his flashlight out of his satchel, turning it on and shining it on the hole. Yep, still there.  
Was he actually doing this?  
Yes, he was. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with one last breath of the prospitan night before crouching down and crawling through the hole.


End file.
